


Ménage à trois

by methadone (lucretiafly)



Category: House, M.D. - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-31
Updated: 2010-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-13 00:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucretiafly/pseuds/methadone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> On Proxies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ménage à trois

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jezziejay](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=jezziejay).



> **Spoilers:** For end of s4 through to end of s5. Set end of s5.

Her skin was soft. It smelled of almonds from her body wash; moisturising, of course.

This skin is also soft, surprisingly. Too much time indoors, under wraps. No longer buffeted by wind and sun.

Her body was soft too: feminine curves and delicious resistance, like a peach before the teeth cut through the skin. This body is not soft. The resistance is hard muscle, overworked and knotted.

Running hands over the body above, he stays on the back and sides. Skin and flesh are, after all, universal, but if he strays to the front the jarring reminder of what's missing could break the illusion. It's okay though; Amber was so sensual she could appreciate touch everywhere. Wilson didn't always focus on her breasts.

He's careful too, not to stray too high up the shoulders, anticipating the light brush of hair where there is none here.

He misses her hair, as he misses her skin; faint scent of cotton when he buried his face in her neck.

His hands shift of their own accord, gripping hips as they move up and down. Muscle memory, a too-familiar position. She had liked to ride him too, although the flesh around him now is unfamiliar.

Ragged intake of breath from above and though his eyes are still closed, it's House now, not Amber.

He wonders if House is thinking of her too.

She had been with them all evening; House too often distracted by someone Wilson couldn't see. He could sense her there though, just off to the side. If he didn't look her way, he could pretend she'd be there when he eventually did. Look now, and all he'd see is her absence.

He'd been thinking of Amber when House kissed him. Closing his eyes, he ignored the prickle of stubble and remembered instead the taste of her gum and how her tongue had felt just like this, bossy and demanding and taking what it wanted.

She'd been so real to House, and Wilson thought desperately that if House was seeing her and he was remembering her, maybe somehow she'd _be_ there too.

She's not though, and hot wetness spilling onto his chest is an unsubtle reminder.

As he comes, Wilson can't help but laugh. If Amber was a proxy for House, why does it feel now like he's only filling her space?


End file.
